


Foreplay

by rebel_diamond



Series: Love on Ice [8]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 17:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14938910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebel_diamond/pseuds/rebel_diamond
Summary: Gold puts his skates back on for the first time in over a decade. Will Belle be there to help him get his groove back?Part of Love on Ice. A series of stories in which disgraced ex-pairs figure skater Gold is hired to coach ice princess Belle and her partner Gaston to the Olympics. If Gold and Belle don’t kill each other first.





	Foreplay

“Why don’t you come out here and show me then?”    
  
She was spouting off at the mouth again. He’d corrected her jump combination for the third time in a row. But lately it wasn’t even her own performance she was protective of. She’d launch to Gaston’s defense at any opportunity. It was exhausting.    
  
Since the impromptu therapy session with Dr. Hopper, dissecting his feelings for Belle had become unavoidable. He couldn’t drink the unseemly thoughts away and he couldn’t completely avoid her. He was forced to stare at her beauty for a living. He was paid to inspect every angle and curve of her figure. He was expected to instruct her on the best way to highlight the curve of her neck, her eyes, her smile, her legs.  All under the guise of how to best win over the judges.    
  
The only thing keeping him from going mad was the gym. Over the past few weeks, he’d sneak between Belle and Gaston’s scheduled workouts. They shared the skating compound with other teams but he’d been careful and nobody had caught him yet. While he enjoyed free reign over the complex, he didn’t want anyone to know. The snide cracks from Ella alone if it ever got back to her was enough motivation to be secretive.    

These days it was easy to avoid  Gaston and Belle because went everywhere together. It was rare to see them apart. Even when he was only addressing one of them, the other would be hovering right over their shoulder. He tried not to let it rankle him. He didn’t entirely believe Belle and Gaston weren’t sleeping together. This was despite what Archie said. Even if they weren’t then, this was weeks later. They could be now.

Even now, she settled next to Gaston as she shot Gold a dirty look. This particular outburst of hers had especially stung. Because she knew he wouldn’t step foot onto the ice. Everything he did, he did from behind the barricade. Between it and the ice was an invisible boundary he refused to cross and she’d noticed.

He doubted she suspected the reason for his hangup. If he went out there, he’d have to actually accept the fact that he was back in this godforsaken sport. He hadn’t been prepared to face those demons yet. He knew stepping onto the ice would feel different, and not necessarily better. Putting on skates and going out there with only a quarter of the ability he once had, while this gorgeous girl skated circles around him in his dreams, was torture. To be on the ice and never touch her, never to hold her the way her partner could, would kill him.  

His eyes bore a hole in the ice at her feet. “You’re dismissed,” he said to both of them. 

Her brow creased. He’d been doing that a lot lately, avoiding fights with her. He could tell she was confused. If he wasn’t mistaken, she was even a little hurt that he wasn’t engaging with her like he used to. But he was trying to keep his feelings towards her, whether they be anger or attraction, in check. But those beautiful blue eyes, that pouty lip she was giving him. She had no idea how hard she was making it for him. 

“But…” she started, the saltiness gone from her voice. 

“Go.” He’d even managed to say it without raising his voice.  

He waited until the echo of the metal doors slamming faded and a count of ten to make sure neither of them returned. 

He unhurriedly peeled off his wool coat, letting it fall to the bench behind him. His hands stroked the stubble that ran down his chin and untangling the knot of his scarf. Tugging on one end of the fabric, it slid off his neck discarded on top of the jacket. He popped another fastener on his white button down. He wore no undershirt. The air conditioning hitting his bared skin caused gooseflesh to rise. Glaring at the ice like the old adversary it was, he slowly unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt. He purposefully rolled each sleeve up his forearms.

He lowered himself to the bench and felt underneath, uncovering a pair of black skates. He unlaced how own shoes and dropped them to the cement with a dull thud. The skates felt burdensome in his grip. But he propped them between his shins and grimly stepped into them. He bent over, his fingers nimbly threading the laces in a familiar ritual. He pulled the strings tight, his forearms flexing with the effort.     
  
He stood, noting the twinge his knees and hips gave. Incredibly, he used to feel more stable on skates than off.

He gingerly approached the ice, all the time thinking about what an old fool he was. He debated whether he was ready. Maybe he should chuck the skates and go back to the gym. What was he doing out here anyway? What was he trying to prove? And to whom? Belle’s face and how free and relaxed she looked when she flew around the rink came to him. She’d made him want to try. Just to see if he could.  

He thought he heard voices. He paused at the edge of the rink, prepared to duck behind the barrier if anyone entered. He hadn’t been on skates in over a decade. If he was going to fall on his arse he didn’t want an audience.

When no one appeared, he braced himself with one hand on either side of the boards. His right leg hovered over the ice for a moment before he steeled himself and threw his weight on his front foot. His left automatically pushed off and he was drifting across the ice. He picked up one foot and then the other, shaking out his arms and stretching his neck from side to side. The feel of the slick surface under him, the clean, cold smell of the ice. Other than the terrible protests his body was making, it felt like no time had passed at all. 

To begin, he simply skimmed across the rink, only occasionally pushing off his back leg. He lifted his right foot, placing it behind his left ankle, and lifted his arms. It was the pose he took to float to center ice when announcers called his and Milah’s names. Instead of being haunted by bad memories as he expected, it felt…good. 

He filled his lungs with the frigid air and tried a few crossovers and picked up speed. He closed his eyes as he circled the ice. The self-created wind whipped against his face and through his hair. He could hear his breathing and his blades cutting across the ice and he thought of nothing. He’d forgotten how peaceful an empty rink could be.   

He’d only meant to take a few loops around the rink and then stop for good. But the artist in him emerged. He ran his fingers through his hair as he rotated on one leg. His musicality and artistry had been the strongest aspects of his skating. Before he could think better of it, he was crisscrossing the length of the rink with turns, spread eagles, and all the other flowing steps with strong edges that were at one time his specialty. 

His shirt clung to his chest and he panted as he pumped into the turns. His knees groaned in protest but the rest of him felt awake for the first time in years. He let loose with what his body had been begging to do for weeks. The gym had rediscovered atrophied muscles, but they were built for this. He wouldn’t be attempting jump combinations or any other advanced moves, but a camel spin he could handle. 

Circuiting the ice again, he turned heels in and leaned back into a spread eagle. He closed his eyes again to embrace this feeling one last time before he exited the rink. Possibly forever. He knew he could do it now if he wanted to, and that was enough.  

Something clapped onto his hand, jerking him off balance. He regained his footing, eyes snapping open. Belle was gliding there beside him. He blinked, convinced he was swept up in the moment. He was imagining himself fifteen years younger. The lucky bastard who got to skate with her, lift her, make her fly. But then her hand squeezed his harder and she smiled at him.

He didn’t think it was possible for him to blush, but he felt flush with embarrassment. The old man caught trying to relive his glory days. Pretending he still had it. He tried to pry his hand out of hers, but she wouldn’t let go. He tried to slow down, but she sped up, forcing him to keep up with her. 

He snapped out of his trance to maneuver them around the corner and avoid crashing into the boards. She didn’t speak, just grinned. Not like she was laughing at him, but like she knew something he didn’t. He didn’t dare say anything and risk removing the light from her eyes. If this was an elaborate figment of his imagination, he wasn’t ready to crash back to cold, lonely reality yet.

At first, they skated around the rink until their skates fell in sync.  They held hands like a couple of middle school kids on their first date.  He forgot how much he loved these sounds. The scrape of their combined skates. He used to associate these things only with his personal and professional failures. Now, he realized, he correlated them with Belle. He tried not to notice how intimate their labored breathes sounded.

She crossed in front of him and reached back to take his other hand. She placed both on her waist. Understanding, he spun them so they skated backward, bent his legs, and tossed her. Not very high, but both her feet left the ice for a complete rotation. She landed with perfect ease and immediately reached for him again. The pride and exhilaration he felt in making her take off from the ice made him want to beat his chest and howl at the moon. 

He wondered what it would have felt like to be younger and her partner and be with her like this every day. He pushed the thought away. He didn’t need to imagine. She was there with him, now. 

He led her around the ice, marveling at watching her up close. She spread her arms wide and he crossed over behind her. His arms supported hers as they rushed through the corners. He wasn’t her coach now. He didn’t watch her feet to make sure she took off from the correct edge of her blade. He supported her when she extended her leg into a spiral.    
  
Lost in the moment, he scooped her against him, flush against his chest. He felt her sharp gasp of surprise, her skates dangling inches off the ice as they spun. Her fingers intertwined behind his neck. She slid slowly down his chest, her lips parting. Her skates hit the ice and he dipped her as they slide to a stop in the center of the ice.

Wide blue eyes looked into his. “That was wonderful,” she breathed. “You skate beautifully.” He knew she wasn’t patronizing him. She meant it honestly, one skater to another. She searched his face. “Why don’t you do it anymore?”     
  
A prick of annoyance stung him at the mention of his past career, bursting the bubble they were in. He fought the urge to lash out of her. So instead he ignored her question.    
  
“Well, don’t ask me to sit spin, I might not get back up.”     
  
She laughed. It was the first time he’d gotten that reaction from her. Not haughtily or sarcastically, but genuinely. She was still in his arms and made no move to untangle herself. She was as relaxed with him right now as she was with Gaston. It gave him a similar feeling to when he threw her. Because he knew how much trust was required of her.    
  
“We’ll work up to that,” she told him through her grin. The meaningful and flirtatious glint in her eye made him gulp.  

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to A Monthly Rumbelling's June prompt, I can promise drinking, karaoke, dancing, kissing, and a date in the next installment! We're headed to the Autumn Classic hosted by Skate Canda!


End file.
